I told myself a few years ago when my heart was left abandoned on a dusty, cracked road with no one else to go home to
"I wanna start writing poetry again" as I numbed all the pain and prepared all the stolen luggage to start life anew and take myself far from the people who knew the lost soul I was back then and maybe… forget
Instead, I remembered
I remember when I started writing poems at 11 I wrote my way through teenage angst and unexplained tears regret, confusion, hatred at the world that didn't seem to understand me, when the words did
I grew older and by 16, I saw how anger turned into sadness and sadness turned into love and every poem I wrote took me to places higher than my hands could ever reach a world of connections, hidden meanings, and clarity
Clarity —
until love turned me blind and I began writing poems to lie to myself that I loved the person who said he loved me yet touched me in places the words never did as I hid in my own broken corridors for the last two years with a poet who lost all the words she had to her fears because she gave them all away to those who didn’t even know how to read poetry
Years passed and now the poet has awoken A new light shining in the places she thought she had forgotten endlessly flowing with words, words, words serving as a ticket to the unseen tomorrow she's now willing to take
And maybe until now she's still afraid to write the next line
But she has begun to realize — she can never escape from poetry
She can only pick up the pen once again.
Hey, it's been awhile. Have a personal poem.
Thank you, poetry, for being the friend I could turn to through all these years.